


Taste of Dust in Your Mouth

by SergeantPixie



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, I just love siblings okay, Mid COFA, Someone take the laptop away from me, even fucked up sibling relationships, idk man this is sad but also weird and like stark???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantPixie/pseuds/SergeantPixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary searches for a resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Dust in Your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> umm, I just wanted a moment where Clary reflected on her brother idk man, I just like siblings and their relationships. Title taken from Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind from the musical Spring Awakening

Clary sits in front of the mirror, legs crossed, back straight, hair tumbling down her back, eyes locked on the girl in the mirror. Dressed in only a tank top and her underwear, Clary studies her face, searching. Her verdant eyes are obscenely bright against the pallor of her face, her hair a raging inferno, bringing out the almost blue whiteness of her skin in sharp contrast. She looks more like a vampire than Simon.

She follows the curve of her jaw, the arch of her eyebrow with her eyes, looking for proof that he existed at all. No matter how hard she looks, she cannot find Jonathan in her face. He is not in the bow of her lips, nor the curve of her lashes. There is no sign of the demon boy who looked like an angel in the sloop of her nose or the freckles scattered across her skin like tiny, burning kisses.

It's like he never existed at all.

Down the hall, her mother mourns the boy who never was, somewhere in the city, Jace pulls away from her, and here in her room, Clary folds inward, pressing the tiny pinpricks of pain deeper into herself. No one knows they exist except her.

She pretends they don't.

She rubs her palms against her knees absentmindedly, searching for Valentine in her face. If she can find Valentine, she can find Jonathan. She doesn't see what Maryse sees. She doesn't see Valentine. Only Clary; only Jocelyn. Valentine does not hide in the shape of her eyes or the clench of her jaw, and neither does Jonathan.

She wishes she could see his face again. If she saw it again, maybe she could find herself in his face and then they'd be connected, they'd be siblings, family. For the innumerable time since that fateful day in Idris, she wishes that she had studied him more, committed his face to memory. Her drawings of her dark prince are not enough; they don't look like him to her anymore, simply a pale imitation drawn by a fanciful, foolish girl. She worries her lower lip raw between her teeth and then flashes the mirror girl a smile. He is not hiding in her smile. Her lips curve downward; displeased.

She uncrosses her legs and leans forward until her nose is touching the cold surface and her breath fogs up the glass, obscuring her face. She stares into her own green eyes, unseeing and unfeeling. After a moment, she moves back, crossing her legs again.

Cocking her head to the side, she gives the mirror girl an engaging smile. "I had a brother once," she whispers to the girl in the mirror. The girl blinks, her eyes dry.


End file.
